


A New Medium

by Disco (moistdrippings)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Comeplay, Light BDSM, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Spanking, Submissive Hannibal, brief descriptions of murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5659516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moistdrippings/pseuds/Disco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal makes a mistake and kills the wrong person. Will just can't quite let that go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Medium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bonnie (CatsAndHounds)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsAndHounds/gifts).



> For my dear Bonnie! I promised this to you a while ago, and I can only hope it was even slightly worth the wait.

It was a crude form of violence, striking someone with a hand. It lacked the power and elegance of Hannibal's art, and spoke more of weakness, of being a slave to one's own anger. Will had been struck by adults when he was a child for perceived misbehaviors and peculiarities, and although he had grown to understand what drove one person to hit another, he had never felt in tune with the emotions driving it, had never seen it as a useful or admirable solution. Even after following Hannibal to death's door and beyond it, knowing fully what he was, it seemed base and banal.

And yet, with the body of Dr. Prieto twisted almost obscenely around itself in an endless ouroboros of a struggle, Will knew the urge to raise his hand to Hannibal. He felt choked with apoplectic rage, and it reached out of him like a miasma, touching Hannibal as soon as he laid eyes on him.

He was certain Hannibal could feel its impact, though he showed no immediate reaction. He stood near the kitchen sink, his back to Will, and calmly continued his methodic preparation of what was undoubtedly a meal made of veterinarian.

Will's veterinarian. Or, more accurately, Will's dogs' veterinarian. He seethed in silence, waiting for some apology, some reasonable explanation he had no hope of actually getting.

"You're displeased with your gift," Hannibal said eventually, as though he was greeting Will like he might on any other day. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "We'll have braised cheek two nights from tonight."

The last time they'd had braised cheek, it had been actual beef, and Will had savored every bite while fighting the urge to close his eyes in pleasure and moan. Of course Hannibal had noticed, and somehow had come to the conclusion that serving it from the veterinarian Will relied on to manage Murphy's arthritis and treat Lucy's pyotraumatic dermatitis while displaying his body as a prize was something Will actually wanted.

If it had been almost anyone else, Will would have been touched. He had been touched, had glowed with affection, when Hannibal had given him other gifts and used them to prepare other delicacies. He'd admired a local politician strung up like a marionette in the basement while Hannibal readied French onion soup from his marrow bones; he'd enjoyed the tongue of a street preacher with pickled apple, passion fruit, and coriander while a tableau of that same sinner falling to Earth waited for him beneath his feet. It had made him feel intimately cared for, and had stoked the fire burning within him that burned away at the last of his reluctance to produce the bodies himself.

This left him cold. He didn't think he needed close tending to, didn't require any particular love notes written into the edges of Hannibal's works in their personal museum. He did, however, prefer that the things that mattered to him not be toyed with in the pursuit of enlightenment through higher art.

"He knew the dogs." Will clenched his hands into fists, then flexed his fingers, trying to work out his furious energy by fidgeting. "They were good with him. He knew their history and he knew what to look for when something was wrong. He's— he was good, Hannibal."

"He may have been skilled in his practice," Hannibal began, with a note of skepticism in his voice that was either doubt that he was as talented as Will had thought or that it took any skill at all to know veterinary medicine, "but he wasn't good enough to be rude. Even if you couldn't understand him well when he spoke, you knew what was in his eyes."

Will had known. He'd known from the first time he'd met Dr. Prieto that he'd made assumptions about him, assumptions Will hadn't bothered correcting. He'd been short with Will, broadcasting his contempt for his foreignness, made worse by Hannibal's shadow when he'd come with him, and his discomfort with the relationship he'd believed they had, which had only been exacerbated by Will's lack of femininity. He was not a pleasant man, but he was the sort of unpleasant Will could tolerate, for the health of his dogs. He had been _good_ with them.

"I thought you would appreciate the excuse to find a new veterinarian," Hannibal said, and glanced over his shoulder. They made eye contact, and Will saw exactly what he thought he would: an utter and complete lack of remorse.

Expected though it was, that was the straw that broke Will. He reminded himself that it would be crude to use his hand for this, and picked up a spatula from the counter as he crowded up behind Hannibal, pressing him against the sink and bending him over it before he had a chance to struggle. Not that he would, of course; Hannibal never struggled against Will anymore unless he was having a fit of doubt, and those had grown rare.

He held Hannibal by the back of his neck with one hand and raised the spatula with the other. It sliced noisily through the air and landed with a crack on Hannibal's upper thigh, complemented by a sharp, surprised intake of breath and Will's own harsh breath out.

Will nearly wanted to pause. He could hardly believe what he was doing, but he wanted Hannibal to believe it.

He also wanted him to hurt.

Will gave himself only the space of a breath, then drew back his arm and quickly brought it down again. The second blow struck lower, on the meat of his other thigh, and Hannibal jumped slightly. He didn't gasp, though. Will sought to rectify that.

The next three strikes were across Hannibal's backside, overlapping each other, each one more vicious than the last. Will got the gasp he wanted on the last one, though it carried a hint of something different, something that gave him pause.

His fingers clenched on Hannibal's neck, nails digging marks into his skin. He let the spatula hang at his side, dragging his eyes over Hannibal from his neat, tailored pants to his twitching shoulders, right up to what he could make out of his profile. Hannibal's jaw was lax, his eyes closed. His hair had begun to fall out of place, spilling over his forehead.

Will's eyes darted down again, almost against his will. Hannibal shifted, just slightly, bringing his leg forward so the fabric of his slacks bunched and loosed just so. Will didn't doubt his eyes, though, not anymore. Not around Hannibal. It may have been almost nothing, but he'd managed to be sure of quite a lot in his life going on less.

Hannibal was aroused.

Will felt entirely certain Hannibal was not a masochist. He wasn't even a sadist, in a sexual sense. Pain surely brought him mental stimulation, sparked a certain alien curiosity in him, like human bodies were at their most fascinating when one lit a match under them to see how quickly they could burn.

It certainly wasn't fascination. It was submission. He wanted to be punished, specifically, by Will, and in that moment Will wanted nothing more than to punish him.

"Take off your pants," Will demanded, refusing to let himself think about it any further. There was no reason to deny them both what they desired.

Hannibal started to turn his head, and Will hit him with the spatula again, centering the strike so the edge of the utensil landed right between his thighs, just under the curve of his ass. Hannibal hissed in pain, and he knew he'd found his mark.

"Don't look at me. Just do it."

The position was awkward, and being unable to see what he was doing made it doubly so, but Hannibal's hands were deft, and in moments he had slipped open his belt and unfastened his pants, letting them drop to his knees. His feet were too far apart for them to fall further, but Will was almost satisfied. He let go of Hannibal's neck and used his free hand to pull his briefs down to his thighs.

He had seen Hannibal naked before. Modesty hadn't felt necessary while they were in recovery, and Hannibal was, despite his usual style, entirely unashamed of his body. That was nothing like having him bent over, with just his ass exposed to the air. It made him look eager, perhaps even impatient. It was an image Will could easily appreciate, even as he let his anger boil over once more, raising his arm and bringing the spatula down to smack against bare flesh.

With nothing between metal and man, Hannibal's skin glowed red. He grunted when Will hit the same spot again, and rocked forward slightly when Will braced himself, applying as much force as he could to the next blow.

Over and over Will struck him, giving Hannibal no time to recover. Will felt his anger gather in his chest, pouring out of him through his arm. Sweat began to bead on his temples, and by the time he paused again, he was panting so loud it seemed to echo in his ears, nearly drowning out the sounds of Hannibal's equally unsteady respiration.

His rage momentarily quelled, Will stepped back, grasping at clarity as he drew his eyes over the scene before him. Hannibal's backside was entirely red, nearly purple in spots, and it looked like it would ache for hours at least. He had become increasingly disheveled, even his shirt askew. There was color on his cheeks, only half as red as his ass but significantly more telling. His mouth hung open and his eyes clenched shut, Hannibal looked, from the waist up, like he was teetering on the edge of orgasm. With another step back, Will saw it wasn't a much different image from the waist down: Hannibal's cock jutted away from his body obscenely, precome pearling at its tip. He was an inferno of arousal, and Will could feel his heat so keenly he wished he could shield himself.

Inside his jeans, Will's own cock was nearly as hard. If Hannibal couldn't smell it on him already, he would only need to turn his head to see the way it tented his pants. Will had told him to stay put, though, and he had obeyed.

His submission made Will's blood sing through his body. He felt overly sensitized, rubbed raw. His anger and his lust had twisted themselves together inside him so thoroughly he wasn't sure he could tell them apart. He had the sense that time had slowed, and it lent him a strange sort of peace, let him drop the spatula and ignore the clattering of it on the kitchen floor. He draw his palm calmly, steadily over Hannibal's ass, relishing its unusual warmth.

The situation had changed. Where before there had been only crude brutality, now there was intimacy. Will put his free hand on Hannibal's low back, spreading his fingers out, and spanked him bare-handed. His palm stung and Hannibal barely made a noise, but it was worth it; he hit him again, twice, striking one cheek and then the other.

Though he missed the initial movement of it, he couldn't miss the unmistakable motion of Hannibal's hand stripping his cock. He turned himself, draping himself over Hannibal's back, and grabbed him by the elbow.

"Stop, or I'll—" Will hesitated, searching for a consequence Hannibal would actually care about. "Or I won't touch you myself."

He couldn't see Hannibal's face from the angle he was at, but he saw the slight nod of his head, felt him pull his arm back and place his palm back on the edge of the countertop. He waited.

Will straightened up, and swallowed when he realized how close his cock was to Hannibal's ass. Pressed against the inside of one reddened cheek, all that separated them was jeans and a pair of thin boxers. He rocked his hips forward, dragging denim over sensitive flesh.

Hannibal groaned, and Will couldn't take it anymore.

It was quick work to open his fly, to pull his cock free from his boxers and rub himself over Hannibal's ass. It was nearly uncomfortable, dry as it was, but electrifying all the same. He rolled his hips, pushing himself against Hannibal twice, and stepped back again.

"Stay right there," Will said. He licked his palm before wrapping his fingers around his cock, smearing precome down its length. He stroked himself as slowly as he could bear to, and his eyes roamed over Hannibal’s body, taking in every inch of him. He bit his lip as he lingered on his ass, as he caught the twitching in Hannibal’s thigh, and increased the speed of his hand.

He tried to picture how they looked. Hannibal, debauched and exposed in his pristine gallery of a kitchen, with Will standing over him. All of it spoke of Will’s control, his dominance over Hannibal. To an outsider, Will would probably look like an invader into Hannibal’s space, there to use him, to debase him, or else to keep him in his place. Best of all, that seemed to be exactly what Hannibal wanted.

Will closed his eyes, thinking of the gifts Hannibal brought him and superimposing _this_ version of him, bent over and waiting patiently for whatever Will deigned to give him, into the scenery of their basement. He swallowed thickly, imagining making Hannibal wait while he sipped wine, reconstructing whatever new installation Hannibal had put in, and then taking what he felt like from his body. _Getting_ to take what he wanted.

Will dropped his other hand to his balls, thumbing over them and rolling them in his palm lightly. He was close.

"Will you do this again for me on your own, or am I going to have to take it when you screw up again?" he asked. Hannibal moved his head slightly, but remained silent. "You can answer."

"Whenever you ask," Hannibal answered. He sounded strained, like it was taking all his willpower to remain still. "I’d hate to have to start making mistakes on purpose."

"I want you to surprise me," Will said. "I think I’d like to come home one day to find you ready for me, whatever that means for you. I don’t want to know yet. Just make it good."

A strangled, animal sound made its way out of Hannibal’s chest, and he nodded, his head dropping low. "Of course."

Will groaned in turn, letting go of his balls to grip Hannibal’s hip as he came, ribbons of semen coating Hannibal’s ass and upper thighs. He pumped his cock through it, breathless at the sight before him. By the time he came down from his orgasm, his grip on Hannibal was white-knuckled, keeping him upright.

He breathed deep, savoring the image Hannibal made and committing it to memory. Lines of come painted his reddened ass white from tailbone to thigh, across both cheeks, some of it even slipping down between them. All of it was framed by Hannibal’s shirt, rucked up just a little, and his briefs, still caught on his thighs. 

"You look," he started, and then paused to run his hand over Hannibal’s skin, spreading come across one cheek. "This is art."

"Will," Hannibal pleaded.

"Sssh." Will dragged his palm over Hannibal’s other cheek, as much to rub his come into his skin, like it could keep the redness he’d put there in place, as to coat his hand. When he had accomplished both, he pressed close to Hannibal again, wrapping his slickened fingers around his erection, just a little too loose. "Go on, then. Show me how much you appreciate my artwork."

For a moment, it was as though Hannibal couldn’t bring himself to move after remaining still at Will’s command for so long. When his hips jerked forward, pushing his cock into Will’s hand, though, it was a dam breaking, and each thrust after seemed exponentially quicker and more desperate. He grunted and moaned, sounding to Will’s ears utterly grateful for the opportunity to use just his hand.

Will tightened his fist just slightly, giving Hannibal more friction to push into, and rested his forehead against Hannibal’s back. Though he was utterly spent, he felt there was still a fire in him, more than just the reflection of Hannibal’s desire. He closed his eyes and squeezed Hannibal’s cock just a little tighter.

" _Will_ ," Hannibal groaned, and with a few last jagged thrusts, he was coming, painting the edge of the sink and the front of the cupboards white. Will caught what he could in his free hand, pressing it to the bottom of Hannibal’s stomach and coating Hannibal’s groin with it, smearing it through the thatch of pubic hair around his cock.

While Hannibal panted through his aftershocks, Will stepped away from him and crouched down, pulling up Hannibal’s briefs and pants. He straightened his clothes without cleaning his body, immensely satisfied with the knowledge that Hannibal would wear the evidence of what they had done until that night, at least. Maybe until Will told him he could shower. The thought of it was thrilling.

Hannibal recovered and helped him put his shirt to rights. Will let him smooth his hair back on his own and went to the hall, letting the dogs in from the yard. Four of them crowded around him, sniffing his unwashed palms excitedly before spilling into the rest of the house. Riley, a three-legged terrier, brought up the rear, sniffing distractedly at Will for only a second before peeking into the kitchen, barking at Hannibal, and running off to join the others. Will looked into the kitchen after him and grinned at the sight of Hannibal on his knees, wiping the cupboards clean with a cloth.

"There’s wine decanted in the dining room," Hannibal said, glancing over at him. "I meant to bring it to you while you were with Dr. Prieto, but I suppose I was a little distracted."

Will joined him, putting a hand on the back of his head as he watched him work. He wouldn’t have dared touch him like that just hours ago, but suddenly it felt natural. "I’m still mad at you."

"I know."

"And you’re not the least bit sorry."

"I’m sorry I inconvenienced you," Hannibal said, rising and turning to face him. "But for the rest? No, I’m not."

"You’re barely even sorry for that."

Hannibal tilted his head, as though to say, "What can you do?" and stood there, waiting.

Will let him wait another moment, and then leaned forward and kissed him for the first time.


End file.
